*The Foggy Dew*
I was down the glen one April morn
To a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum, no battle drum did sound it's loud tattoo
But report of rifles, Harper’s kind, rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high in Richmond town
Hung they out a flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath that Confed’rate sky
Than a Yankee’s, tells our lore
And from the plains of ol’ New York
Strong men came hurrying through
While young Grant’s sons with their long range guns
Marched in through the foggy dew
Their bravest fell and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died those April Ides in the
Springing of the year
While the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that a man’s rights lie
Gleaming through the foggy dew
And back through the glen
I rode again
And my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
Whom I never shall see n'more
But to and fro in my dreams I go
And I kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled oh glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew